


A Blue House in New Orleans

by aceofhearts88



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), happiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-10-10 00:58:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10425690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aceofhearts88/pseuds/aceofhearts88
Summary: As the garden healed below his hands, his heart, his body and his mind did as well. Every cleaned up space in back- and frontyard a clean new blank state in him as well, until one evening he fell asleep leaned against the tree in the back, the sound of birds singing lullabies and the gentle ripple of the stream at his side. Right there in the open he slept, because he trusted these lands, he trusted this city.--Sam heals after the Raft and all the fighting.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a birthday present and now delayed posted to let other people find joy in the fluff as well.

It was a blue house in New Orleans.

When it came to hiding from the government and staying off the radar of everyone who could potentially lead to them being detected and landing right back in Ross' hands, Sam had expected more the likes of run down cabins in the middle of nowhere in Russia or old grimy bunkers in a rundown village somewhere in deep shit Alaska.

Certainly not a beautiful two story house in the outskirts of New Orleans, backyard reaching right to the bayou, little stream passing by them, with small pier and all. God it was so beautiful, right down the street from where his grandmother had once raised three troublemaker children, one of them, the youngest, had been his mother.

Oh how much he had loved her garden, how much time he had spent as a kid with one hand in the dirt and another one holding a flower. How rewarding it was to come back for another visit half a year later, to see how much a single flower had grown where at the same time he had barely changed.

Hiding in plain sight, and no one cared.

The neighbours looked at them and no one even looked suspicious, all they cared about was the happy new couple who had moved into the slightly rundown blue house.

Slightly. Only slightly. Nothing their hands hadn't been able to fix.

The garden, though, oh boy, the garden had been a mess. As if the people who had lived in this house before them had been betting on which plant would eat the others first, a wild mix of plants and none of them had been a good idea. Too exotic for the climate or too strong to be planted next to weaker homebased little flowers.

Sam had spent almost a week debating on what could be saved until he had just grabbed an axe and made a short but effective process out of cutting it all down. Steve had been busy with the roof still, while Sam had with each swing of an axe discovered another patch of beautiful garden to be brought back to life. The thick oak tree right by the edge of the stream, suddenly so much more beautiful as it stood there all free and majestic.

Then winter had come and though he hadn't been able to plant anything just yet, Sam had still spent so much time sitting outside in their garden. Their garden. Their land. And him free to do as he pleased. Lousiana winters weren't cold, so sometimes he sat all day out there on the small patio or down by the wooden pier, notebook in his hands, filling page after page with ideas and sketches.

He had a dream.

And it felt incredible to be so free. 

With every brush of his pencil against white paper, he felt less and less like a hunted former superhero and more like himself again. He stopped flinching at every sound, stopped checking out dark corners and shadows, afraid it might be someone coming to take them in.

As the garden healed below his hands, his heart, his body and his mind did as well. Every cleaned up space in back- and frontyard a clean new blank state in him as well, until one evening he fell asleep leaned against the tree in the back, the sound of birds singing lullabies and the gentle ripple of the stream at his side. Right there in the open he slept, because he trusted these lands, he trusted this city.

Steve found him later and carried him inside, and even half asleep as Steve tugged off his shoes in their bed, Sam was able to feel the relief in him as well. How this house and this city had healed him as well, had taken a weight off his shoulders, wiped the darkness from his eyes, turned him back into the Steve that Sam had missed so much in the last months.

The Steve he had fallen so deeply in love with.

They had somehow without really talking about shared responsibilities, Steve was the one who had wiped most of the house back into the most beautiful home Sam had seen since his grandmother had passed away and they had had to sell the house, and Sam took the garden. 

A task that had to wait until spring came though.

But it didn't take long.

That first morning where the sun broke through the curtains into their bedroom and Sam was awoken by the songs of birds and the smell of spring in his nose, he was up and out of the bed quicker than ever before. And Steve's fond laughter followed him through scrambling into clothes and down the stairs.

He had bounded into his garden on bare feet, felt the still morning dew wet grass under his feet, smile as bright as the sun would be in another hour. And he could feel it under his skin, the itching need to see something grow, to see something come to life, to see the blankness turn into undescribable beauty.

Well then, no more standing around, get to work.

"STEVE!"

"Let me at least drink a coffee first." Steve's voice had him whirl around on the spot, watching his boyfriend lean against one of the pillars on the patio, coffee mug clutched in both hands, smiling down at Sam with a lovesick grin.

This was gonna be beautiful.

\--

Count down a week and several trips into the city later, Sam had turned their still not fully furnitured guest room into a plant storage while he started with the frontyard. And piece by piece his vision came alive.

There were roses, daisies, blanket flowers, Veronica, tall garden phlox, sage of all colors, Asters, Peonies, Daffodils and so much more now growing alongside the white fence. A sea of colors right along the stone pebbled path up to the front porch, from red to blue, from yellow over white to orange, pink and purple. 

The small winding path that was crooked and made weird curves, brought you through the sea of sweet smelling wonders to their front porch, was lined on both sides by the tiny blooms of moss phlox. The little door in the white fence with the blue mailbox was covered with a wooden arch, covered in grape plants, red and white. 

The white steps of the front porch were accented with a blue hydrengea planted on each side of the stairs. A small pebbled path broke off just in front of the stairs, leading to the back of the garden, right along a green hedge that would bloom white in late summer and a bed of black-eyed Susan right next to the side of the house.

The railing of the front porch was hung with flower pots showing roses in all colors the world had to offer, and Sam loved to walk up and down the squeaky floorboards or sit in the Hollywood swing next to the kitchen window, watch the sunlight let the flower petals shine.

It was a festival of color, and sometimes he found himself standing behind the curtains in the kitchen, leaning against the fridge and smiling at the kids and women staring and pointing at the display of sheer beauty that he had turned this hopelessly lost overgrown dried out frontyard into.

And it was only the beginning because once done with the front, Sam pushed his sleeves even higher and turned his focus on the back, on their private little island of peace and beauty. No outsider's eyes here, just the two of them. 

The tree got a swing and bird houses up high in the branches, and it didn't take long, barely a day, before birds of all kinds were peeking inside. And then as Sam was planting the reed on the shore of the stream, enjoying how the slight breeze made the grass like plants rustle and sing, he felt eyes on himself and turned to the side, ready to smile at Steve, but his boyfriend was still dead asleep on the hammock on the patio.

Instead he found a set of dark eyes in a sharp angled face blinking slowly at him, the hawk's head cocked to the side, wings neatly tucked in. Sam froze with one hand grabbing the last bunch of reed and one hand still buried in the earth.

"Hi?" He tried, eyes blinking at the majestic bird just standing there on the grass, behind him the still plotted rows of sedum ready to be planted, a plant or bush really that Sam had chosen because they bloomed late and in a red that had reminded him of the suit and the sidekick he had lost. The hawk made no move at first, just watched him for another long moment, Sam felt his heart picking up a little speed, clenching a little as he thought back to Redwing and how much it hurt to know that this bot, that Rhodey's present was now forced to probably remain dead and turned off in some government locker.

The hawk hopped forward then, bringing him back out of his thoughts, snatched up a few of fallen off reed twigs and then flew off into their tree and Sam made a double take at the nest that was already quite noticeable without either of them having noticed it by now. Sam grinned and nodded his head at the hawk as she looked down at him briefly between tugging his new found material into her nest.

He went back to work, humming a melody or two to himself, and then smiling a little while later as Steve turned on the radio for smooth jazz while finishing up on painting the railing of the patio and the stairs leading down into the garden. The hawk hopped down then and now grabbing leaves and twigs that broke off while Sam was planting his dream.

It felt amazing.

To think that their garden growing meant this nest was growing as well, that new life would not only come in form of flowers and leaves. And maybe it was then that Sam knew he had managed to get out of all this mess at the airport and the Raft alive and well and ready for happiness, that that chapter of their lives as over now, ready to be laid aside.

It really was a new beginning.

On either side of their backyard came a hedge of soon to be high growing fir trees, they did have neighbours after all and Sam liked to have his sanctuary private. But their gloomy ever green simplicity was covered up by the flowerbeds right next to them, more roses and daylilys brighter than any rainbrow could ever be, Chrysamthemum and more Lilies.

So many more flowers that Steve joked one evening as they watched the sunset on their little pier, Sam leaning back into Steve's arms, both of them still smudged with paint and dirt, that he was "surrounded by more women than ever before." And Sam laughed and closed his eyes, leaned further into Steve's warmth and let himself drift off into the sounds of nature around them. 

And then it was done, all come together to look like the garden of his dreams that he never really thought he would actually have. Two flower beds on either side of the patio stairs completed the picture, sunflowers and cornflowers mixing with peonies and lilies, their colors warm and soothing, welcoming and beautiful.

And Sam sat on the little swing, gently wipping back and forth and he listened to the sounds of their hawk picking at her nest, and he watched their beauty of a garden be alive right in front of his eyes. The lush green spaces of grass, framed by the bright colored sea of flowers and the sweetness of their little blue house with the white edges and window frames.

This was home.

\--

Planting a garden was one thing, and Sam loved it, but taking care of it, keeping it alive, that was where it all came together, where his heart was melting for. Picking dried leaves, cutting off bloomed off petals, keeping every flower fresh and happy, that was a job he could loose himself in all day long.

The birds singing around him, some cheeky sparrow sitting himself down on his hand as he lounged in the grass by the pier for a short break. A squirrel almost playing peek-a-boo with him and a rose bush as he knelt in the frontyard weeding out the earth. 

"It's magical." Steve whispered to him one early summer night as they laid awake out on the patio couch, watching the fireflies chase each other around their garden and Sam nodded against his shoulder.  
"The magic of New Orleans. My grandmother always said it pours itself into every life born in this place, every flower, every animal, every child born to New Orleans takes a part of its magic and lets it grow even bigger." He explained and smiled as a small group of mice raced across the lawn, passed the small fountain Steve had fixed with much patience over the last week.

Up in the tree the hawk was sleeping, letting the mice have their games, not interested in going hunting just now. 

"You know what magic this backyard still needs?" Steve wanted to know, voice low and quiet, lips brushing over Sam's ear, arms tightening around him, and Sam hummed, "A puppy."  
"A puppy?" Sam echoed, but he could already picture it, could see still clumsy paws running along the grass, jumping over a ball, sprawling out in the sun on the warmed wood of the pier, curling up for a nap in the shadows of the rose bush. A dog and a hawk to chase the rodents away from Sam's beautiful flowers and plants. "Yeah, a puppy."

\--

Golden Retriever.

Of course, because he knew Steve and if the joke was already there, then Sam was so ready to take it one step further. Steve was already calling the hawk "little Falcon", was only fair that Steve got a kind of sidekick back as well.

So while Steve was cuddling the almost white puppy with those pale bright eyes, Sam finished up paperwork with the staff of the animal rescue station and then walked over to his love again, smirk firmly in place.

"What did you do?" Steve asked the second he caught side of him, arms full of squiggly wriggling happy puppy. And Sam proudly held up the paperwork, tipped a finger against the filled out gap at the top.   
"You told me I can name him because you got the bird. So say welcome to the family, James Buchanan Barnes II." And Steve stared at him for a second and then threw his head back and laughed, tears falling from his eyes as he almost howled in happiness.

Sam grinned, folded the papers and stuck them into his jacket pocket, hand reaching out to scratch the puppy behind his floppy ears.  
"You like that, hm, little one. Are you going to turn into a big bad annoying idiot as well?" he joked and the puppy turned to lick his hand. 

And after all, Sam was allowed to miss a friend as well. Even if said Sleeping Beauty would probably have a word or two for him over naming a dog after him.

They didn't call him Bucky, they settled down on Buckybear and it was so worth it to see Steve laugh every time the puppy actually listened to its name. Sam loved to have someone following him through the garden while he made his daily tour from flower bed to flower bed, checking for something to be cleaned up, checking for damage and if everything was just okay.

Buckybear trotted after him and then patiently sat down on the grass or the pebbled path while Sam carefully stepped through his flowers, he never tried to step in as well, always waited patiently until they went on, never even looked like he might be considering getting close to those fragile flowers.

The hawk babies grew and left the nest, their momma staid and as the first hurricane threatened them, Sam opened the windows of the guest room and staid there wrapped in his sweatshirt, one arm held out into the gloomy late afternoon, wind already blowing hard, rain falling even harder, the clouds black and dangerous. And he didn't even stare over at the tree with pleading eyes, he was too busy looking over his garden, sending a prayer or two into the sky behind the dark clouds to please not let the damage be too bad.

Little Falcon landed on his arm like a bedraggled cat, clearly unhappy and fed up with the weather and Sam carefully brought his arm inside, closed the windows with the other one. He brought her into their living room, grabbed the towel Steve was holding out to him and rubbed the hawk down, while Steve went back to his drawings and Buckybear watched the world outside the window with big bored eyes.

They spent the evening in silence then, ears open for warnings from the radio, but also content to read a book in Sam's case and drawing in Steve's. Little Falcon perched on top of the bookcase, preening her feathers, Buckybear asleep by Steve's feet.

In the morning, Sam woke to the incessive tapping of a beak against the window right next to the bed in the master bedroom and Buckybear slamming his tail happily against his feet where he was sitting at the foot of their bed. Outside the window the sun was bright and the sky was clear blue.

He smiled and opened the windows wide, ignored the groan Steve let out before hiding under the blankets, Sam smiled though and breathed in the fresh air of a storm passed by. Little Falcon spread her wings and took off, flying big circles around their house, Buckybear nudged his legs and pulled him towards the stairs with tiny teeth carefully tugging on his sleep pants.

They made the garden damage assessment round together, but it was almost a small wonder that there was barely anything that needed to be cleaned up. Some leaves here and there, a few branches on the lawn that Buckybear gladly brought down to the stream once Sam had gotten across what he wanted, but nothing had been damaged beyond repair. 

The magic of their garden lived on.

Sam's beautiful dream lived on, around a little blue house in New Orleans.


End file.
